


How Happy Endings Start

by grumpyphoenix



Series: Various Bangs [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Canon-Typical Violence, Grandpa Campbell's A+ Grandparenting, Inspired by Arsenic and Old Lace (1944), Inspired by Rear Window (1954), M/M, Men of Letters are assholes, Multi, Peeping, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Worker Castiel (Supernatural), Sibling Incest, Supernatural Trope Celebration 2020 (Supernatural & Supernatural RPF), Threesome - M/M/M, light dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25717183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpyphoenix/pseuds/grumpyphoenix
Summary: After The Incident, Dean Winchester has settled in Happy Dale apartments, where he tries to help the Men of Letters and his fellow hunters in whatever way he can, even though his agoraphobia won’t let him leave the confines of his home. He’s lost everything that meant anything to his life, and now he’s just trying to cope. One day, while watching his neighbor’s lives through his window, he sees what he thinks is a case. If only he can get his brother, or anyone, to believe him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Rowena MacLeod/Dean Winchester
Series: Various Bangs [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1296632
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25
Collections: Supernatural Trope Celebration 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WOOT TROPES. 
> 
> I've had a ball doing this. I have a wonderful and extremely patient artist, the awesome [ Troubleseeker ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubleseeker/pseuds/troubleseeker), and awesomely efficient and candid beta-ing by [Lotrspnfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotrspnfangirl/pseuds/lotrspnfangirl)!!

“Jesus man, that was one hell of a move you had there. I didn’t see you coming until you were right on me!” Ash’s voice over the headset is friendly and amused. “Are you sure you’re not cheating?” 

Dean grins. “No, that would defeat the purpose of an alpha test, wouldn’t it? I just have an unfair advantage by knowing all the game’s secrets. How’d it look on your screen?”

“Looks good, man, but I’m still nauseous when I turn. You’ve almost got it down though, and I can’t wait until this thing is done and you kick ass. Want me to come over and help you tomorrow with the rig?” 

“Yeah, please.” Dean smiles fondly. “You’re a good friend, Ash.” 

“You know it, hot stuff. See you later, I have an appointment with a bong.” 

Dean clicks the VR goggles off first and sits in the dark to acclimate himself to being back in the real world. Then he takes the whole thing off his head and stretches, getting to his feet and working out the kinks in his muscles. The doorbell goes off, making him jump. With a squint, he confirms that yes, it is three o’clock. Damn, time flies. 

He approaches the door, calling out, “Who is it?” 

There’s a knot growing in his stomach, but he ignores it. He knows who it is and he doesn’t need to get a gun. Breathe in, breathe out. 

“Prince Charming,” the voice on the other side snarks. Castiel, right on time. 

The knot loosens. He replies, “One sec!” and starts unlocking the door.

First, the bolt at the top. Despite himself, Dean chants a quick charm under his breath, feeling a little spark of magic respond. _Bless this house._ Then he unhooks the bar in the middle and swings it down. The door itself is metal, but the bar would keep almost anything out for a few minutes. Last is the chain that came with the apartment. It’s a useless piece of crap, but irritating. It’ll buy him time.

He doesn’t need to buy time. It’s Castiel. What he needs is to take a deep breath, uncramp his fists, open the door. 

And there he is, smiling and patient as always. Today he’s wearing tailored slacks and a shirt in a dark blue, unbuttoned just a little to show a peek at the hollow of his throat and the small drop of sweat there. His sleeves are carefully pushed up his muscular forearms. Sunglasses on the top of his head, muss his hair perfectly. Breathtaking.

Dean stares. Castiel allows it for a little while with a bemused smile. Eventually, he holds up some reusable shopping bags. “I picked up your order. Your brother texted me while I was on the way over. Are you going to let me in?” 

He blinks. “Oh, God, sorry.” 

He never invites Castiel in, simply walks away from the door. All of his friends are used to it, but it took Cas a while to stop caring. It isn’t rudeness, after all, and he knows it. 

Castiel comes in, passing the bags over as he does, and shuts the door behind him. “Your neighbors are really enjoying the weather. I don’t think I’ve seen so many of them in the courtyard at once.” 

Dean grimaces, toting the bags to the kitchen. “I know. I can hear them.” 

Cas follows him, leaning on the counter as Dean pulls things out of the bags and puts them away. He takes his sunglasses off and spins them by one finger as he watches. It irritates Dean, but he lets it go while making sure they sent the right stuff.

“How is the top secret project with the hick going?”

“Mean spirited, Castiel. It’s going well. He’s coming over tomorrow to help me with some stuff.” 

Cas smiles at him, looking up through his eyelashes. “Aw, I don’t think he minds.” 

Dean folds the bags. “ _ No _ , he doesn’t. He’s proud of it, but that’s not the point. Can you come over tomorrow too?” 

“You want me to come and hang out while you and Ash tinker with electronics? I’m not your girlfriend.”

Dean comes over and takes the sunglasses away from Castiel. “I’ll pay extra.”

The brilliant smile is back, his blue eyes laser focused on him. It sends a familiar thrill up his spine, making him lose focus and drop things. Castiel knows it too, leaning up to ghost a kiss over Dean’s lips. “It’s your dime, baby. I’ll come hang out. You want me to blow you while Ash watches?” 

Yes. Yes he does. Dean opens his mouth to answer Cas, but his voice breaks and he has to clear his throat. “No. Not… just come over. Just be here.”

Castiel grins, getting real close to him, right into his personal space. Nibbling on his earlobe, he whispers, “You’re a very bad liar. Now that you’ve put away your groceries, what do you want to do?” 

Castiel is so talented. He manages to keep Dean on edge most of the way through  Star Wars , until he’s coming, back arched, hands tight in that silky black hair as Leia sits up in her prison, asking if Luke isn’t a bit short for a stormtrooper. 

Castiel stays afterwards. That’s one of the two primary things that keeps Dean calling. Castiel stays. He cooks food for them both, he watches movies. Dean’s pretty sure that’s called ‘the boyfriend experience”, but he doesn’t care if it’s not real. It’s probably better for Cas anyway. Dean’s a bitch to deal with all the time. 

Sometimes he torments himself with the thought that it could be real, or at least that they could be friends. Castiel is hilarious and just as nerdy as he is, even if he doesn’t like to admit it. They enjoy the same movies, argue good naturedly about which version of Trek is the best, play boardgames... Dean’s invited him to a few board game nights. He and Sam have even bonded over research.

And that’s the other reason he keeps calling Castiel, again and again. Despite all the other good reasons to do so, he’s in the know. One of Dean’s most treasured memories is rescuing the man from a particularly vicious vampire nest. 

Dean’s a bad person, though, and he’s never going to mention it. He’d carried Castiel out of the place himself, as if he was in an action film and Cas some kind of swooning love interest (instead of merely passing out from blood loss). It was a cheesy fantasy and him continually getting hard over someone else’s worst day made him a monster. 

Anyway, Sam trusts him with Dean because of it, so it’s hassle free all the way around.

Long after Castiel’s left, the scent of his cologne lingers like a ghost. Dean sits himself by the window to watch his fellow complex dwellers. Happy Dale is an old motel, still painted this old fashioned turquoise and steel. It’s two stories, one long balcony-style walkway going from room to room on the second floor, where Dean lives. They all overlook a courtyard complete with a swing set and kidney-bean shaped pool. 

He has a pair of binoculars, just to zoom in on things, but the view is spectacularly clear without them. They live permanently on this table, despite Sam’s pursed lips whenever he comes over and sees them.

Though it’s just turning dark, almost everyone who lives here is still outside, swimming or hanging out. Someone’s pulled out a grill and is making hamburgers, possibly steak. Dean closes his eyes and listens to the laughter. Once upon a time, he could just step outside and join them, easy as pie. Once upon a time, he wasn’t a fucking coward.

His phone breaks into Daft Punk and he answers it without looking, grateful for the distraction. “Charlie,” he says with a smirk, “you’re right on time.” 

She snorts over the line. “Yeah, well, your Thursday shenanigans over yet?” 

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m answering the phone, though, so if I  _ had _ been busy with something, I’m not now.”

“Yeah, yeah. You got the binoculars out?” 

“I sure do. Are you working?”

  
There’s a long suffering sigh. “Yes, as always. I’m on night shift here and it’s boring as fuck. Entertain me. What’s the hottie up to?” 

“Boring as fuck already and your shift just starting? Tsk.” Dean focuses on the scene below, looking. ‘The hottie’ refers to their new resident, a scottish woman with long, bouncy red hair.

Charlie makes a sound of annoyance when he spends too long without talking and he chuckles. “Not here, I’m afraid. She mostly avoids the sun, so maybe she’ll be out soon. Not a bad idea, she’s pale as hell.” 

“She’s probably a vampire. Just waiting to pounce on unsuspecting redhead friends of Dean Winchester.” 

He chuckles. “No, if she was a vampire, she wouldn’t live here. They live in large groups, like a pack of wolves, really. A family unit. Vampires by themselves don’t last long.” 

There’s silence on the other end. He holds his breath. Sometimes, Charlie can’t deal with the things he blurts out. It’s not like he means to creep her out, but he can’t help it. It’s a little against the rules, giving her small nuggets of information like that, but it’s kind of funny.

She finally answers him, “You need to write a book, Dean. I mean it, the things you say…”

“Maybe after I’m done with the video game. Wait… oh no.” 

“Oh no?” 

“Well, she’s shown up. She’s… Charlie, I’m so sorry.” 

“What?! Dean, what’s wrong?”

“She’s in a  _ bikini. _ And she is … well, that’s just - it should be illegal.”

“ _ Dean Winchester, you take a picture right now. _ ” 

He laughs. “Gotta go, Charlie.” 

“What? No you don’t! Tell me about the bikini!”

“I’m not going to be held responsible for you losing your job… Later, Charlie!”

He hangs up on her squawking with a grin. Then, just to be a good friend, he takes a picture of the redhead in her glorious bikini and sends it to Charlie.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean wakes, screaming, clawing at his face and unable to breathe. Sucking in rasping, heaving breaths, he gradually comes to. He’s still in his chair at the window. His binoculars are on the floor, fallen from his unconscious fingers. Falling asleep while watching everyone else live a life, how pathetic.

There’s a knock on the living room wall where Kevin lives. It’s interrogative, not a complaint, and Dean knocks back three times; all is well. Blessedly, the other side of him is a deaf woman, and below him is a guy who’s been missing for a month. Dean stands up and cracks his back. He never has to worry that he’s woken Kevin up with his crap - Kevin is a night owl.

The nearly full moon shines in through his window. It’s beautiful, glinting off the pool, shining on the ripples of water. Wait, ripples? He stands up and gets close to the glass to take a look. It’s probably a duck or something swimming around, but his curiosity is fierce. 

Sliding through the pool like she was born in the water is the scottish redhead Charlie’s so into. Naked. She flips over onto her back and looks up at the moon. The look on her face can only be described as ecstatic as she floats in the moonlight, soaking it up. Her glorious hair fans out around her. 

Dean’s stunned. He wants to take a picture. Not really for Charlie, because that just feels creepy, but because it looks like a painting. She’s so beautiful, and the light seems to love her, caressing every curve. 

He runs his hand over his cock, thickening in his jeans, and then snatches it away. He hasn’t been hot for a girl in a long time, but she’s wickedly beautiful. While he watches, she slides one hand down between her legs. She’s graceful, not sinking as she adjusts her position in the water, slowly and deliberately fingering herself. 

Dean swallows hard. This is wrong and he should look away. So he does, closing his eyes, passing a hand over his face and shaking his head. But for some reason, his hand is shaking and he can hear something like music - a lilting melody that he swears comes from the moon itself.

His eyes snap open to see it, heavy and bright, movie-big in the sky outside his window. He looks down at the pool again. Her hair spreads out around her and Dean thinks somewhat hysterically -  _ mermaid _ \- before he’s fumbling with the button on his jeans. 

They get shoved down his hips only so far as he needs, so he can wrap his hand around his hardness. He’s silent as he times the stroke of his hand with hers, feeling that any noise would ruin the spell. Transfixed by the way the light caresses her, the way she looks up at the moon as if it were her lover, calling to it with her eerie song. 

He desperately strokes himself faster, his other hand flat against the glass as if he could reach through it and touch her.

Then it happens - she tips over, breathtaking in her surrender, and Dean comes with a soft whimper, all over his hand and the window. Her head jerks up as if she’s heard the sound and she stops floating, standing now in the cold moonlight. Looking up at him. 

Dean is helpless. He should move, but he’s still coming, caught in a moment of ecstasy that won’t seem to end. She winks at him with a wicked smile, shaking her finger back and forth: Naughty.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean wakes up, covered in a sticky mess. He’s in bed, but he’s not sure when he got there. His head feels fuzzy and muddled. Was that a dream? 

“God, I hope it was a dream,” he mutters to himself. “Otherwise I’m a huge creep.” 

Maybe he is. He’s the one paying for some guy to come and fuck him regularly, after all. 

“None of that, Winchester,” he says, stripping. Sweatpants, not jeans. Maybe it  _ was _ a dream. “No slutshaming yourself.” 

He heads for the shower, rolling his eyes at the fact that he’s talking to the thin air.

When he’s done, Sam is puttering in the kitchen, so Dean puts on some clothes and joins him. 

Sam, not in a suit and tie for once, is chewing on something crunchy and suspiciously green, moving some eggs around in a pan. He pushes a huge glass of vegetable-juice crap at Dean across the counter and goes back to cooking. 

“You got the groceries! I wasn’t sure if Cas would pick them up.” 

Dean snorts. “He was on the way and I know you tipped him for it.” 

Sam arches a brow. “Grumpy this morning, huh?” 

Dean sniffs the drink dubiously. “A little... sorry. I had a weird… I don’t know. Maybe a dream. I think the new tenant is a mermaid. Or a witch. Maybe.” 

Sam plates some eggs, bacon, and potatoes and slides them over. “Why do you say that?” 

Dean blushes. “You know what? It was probably a dream.” 

Sam with a plate of fruit and some bacon, sits down at a stool next to him. “I’ll check her out when I leave. Any ‘dream’ that makes you turn red has got to be a winner. If she’s a witch, I’ll call Garth or Ash and we can handle it. Speaking of which?”

Dean waves some bacon. “It’s almost ready. Ash thinks we should market a version of it as a video game. I can’t say it’s a bad idea. Some income past the Men of Letters would do me good.” 

Sam watches him over his own glass of veggie-crap. “You don’t think they pay you enough?” 

It’s a dangerous line of conversation and Dean knows it. Sam’s a company guy, down to his bones. The bones belong to Dean, but only if he’s really in trouble. Sam wouldn’t report him for anything that would get him ‘reconditioned’ or disposed of, but other than that…

He takes a deep, steadying breath. “I think that I need another way to support myself. I’m of limited use to them, a drain on resources. Without being able to go back to hunting or whatever, I’m actively trying to find a way to make them need me.” 

Sam nods, thinking. He’s really thinking, Dean can tell, not just looking for a way to tell him to stuff it. 

Finally, he says, “Your contract doesn’t say anything about side work, so I say go for it. Just make sure that the simulator is done first. Can you show me what you have?” 

Dean grins. “Yes, but it’s not so polished. Ash is coming over tonight to help me with the head-rig. We’re trying to solve the nausea thing with VR.”

“Well don’t forget to register it. You may actually make a mint off it if other video game companies need to use your equipment to make VR games that don’t make people sick. Polished or not, I’d like to see it.” 

Grabbing a piece of bacon, Dean crooks his finger at Sam and heads towards the computer room.

He chose this apartment and moved in here, over Sam’s objections, because the place had two bedrooms. Dean took the small one to sleep in and the big one to set up his gear. One entire wall is covered in monitors, the desk beneath custom made to hold everything he needs. His chair, the most comfortable chair in the  _ universe _ , towers like a throne. There’s also a sinfully comfortable couch here for him to sack out on when he’s working, or for guests to hang out on. The coffee table in front of it is a highly organized mess of electronics and dominated by a hand blown bong, the colors swirling around in a spiral. Charlie calls it ‘the unicorn horn’.

Dean sits Sam down in his chair and gets the helmet rig. It looks hilarious and awkward right now, all of the circuitry twisting along the outside. With the helmet in one hand, Dean uses the other to brush Sam’s hair away from his face, feeling his brother’s barely repressed shiver at the touch.

Ignoring it, he puts the thing on Sam’s head, and gives him the glasses while logging him into the simulator. Dean has a lot of time to kill since he started the tutorial first, and then the proof of concept program will run. He settles on the couch with some Zeppelin and the unicorn horn to watch his brother play. 

Sam is invested with his entire body as he plays. He’s tense, he leans and jumps and shivers. Dean, mildly buzzed, watches him shift in his seat and adjust his crotch at one point. He laughs to himself. Only Sam could get turned on by killing monsters.

Well, that’s not true. Dean remembers how he used to get after they’d killed, well, anything. Especially that first den of vampires on their own. He and Sam together in that crappy dilapidated barn, Dean pushed up against the wall with his legs wrapped around Sam’s back…

He’s lost in that memory when Sam abruptly rips off the headset, his eyes feverishly bright. 

“You’re a goddamn genius,” he says, licking his lips. “Are the controllers always going to be like that?”

Dean watches his mouth. “No. You’ll have a gun controller, so you’ll be standing instead. Ash said it wouldn’t be hard to rig up a machete either.” 

Sam licks his lips again, crouching next to the couch to get his head at the same level. “This is very exciting. You could save so many cadet’s lives.” 

Dean laughs, patting Sam on the cheek. “Listen to you. Cadets.” 

Sam hooks a finger through Dean’s belt-loop and pulls him close. Dean doesn’t resist, watching his brother’s eyes, pupils black and huge. He hesitates like that, licking his lips compulsively. 

“Gonna fuck me, Sammy?” Dean whispers. He’s calm, even though his pulse is yammering under his skin, begging for him.

Sam leans in and Dean meets him, lips crushing together. For a delirious minute, Sam’s hands wander up his body, pulling him close while he climbs on top of Dean, panting into his mouth. He’s worked up a fantastic rhythm, rocking against his brother’s thigh when Sam jerks a little and pulls back. All the way back, nearly falling in his haste to get off the couch. 

Dean rolls sideways to look at him. He can hear the buzzing of Sam’s phone in his back pocket, and knows instantly who it is. His lips twist into a bitter smile. “Grandpa Samuel, calling to make sure we aren’t alone too long.”

Sam turns away, clearing his throat. “So I - I’m going to… I have a report to write.” 

Dean closes his eyes and doesn’t answer. Of course he’s leaving again. When he opens them, Sam is gone. 

For a long time, he stares blankly at the ceiling, watching the pattern that the sun makes as it comes through the blinds. The color and tone of the light has turned golden when he can finally move again.

Picking his phone up off the coffee table, he surfs for a while, leaving falsely cheerful memes on his facebook page, his twitter feed. Finally, unable to handle his own head, he presses the icon of an angel. The phone rings a while and then connects. 

Smooth as silk, Castiel says, “Hello, Dean. Do you want me to come over early?”

“Yes. And Cas… bring the kit.” 

There’s a moment of silence. “I can do that, but something in your tone says I shouldn’t.” 

Dean kicks the coffee table. “Please. Please bring the kit.”

Cas clicks his tongue. “I like you saying please, Dean, but I’m not going to hurt you because you’re upset. This is for fun and I’m not going to be used like that. Can I trust you to use a safeword?”

He hangs his head, trying not to cry. “Yes. Please? Castiel, I just, I need…” 

Castiel’s voice is abruptly exactly what Dean needs, steady and in control. “I know what you need. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. If you’re high, though, we will wait until you’re not.”

Dean nods eagerly, even though Cas can’t see it. “Yes, of course, I can wait.”

“Good,” Castiel says, “I’m hanging up now. Take a short shower and be ready for me.” 

Dean waits until he hangs up the phone and then hurries to the shower.


	4. Chapter 4

That afternoon, Ash and Dean are quibbling over aesthetics for the rig while Castiel is chilling out on the couch with a book. He’d unilaterally decided that Led Zeppelin would only make Dean maudlin and want to smoke again, so they’re listening to Blue Oyster Cult instead.

The doorbell rings, causing Dean to jump and Ash to swear at him because he jiggled the casing. Dean’s heart starts pounding. He’s not expecting anyone. Carefully, nerves alight, he starts to try to extricate himself from the pile of wires he’s under. Cas puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get it, I don’t want to see you trip over all this crap. I need to grab a drink anyhow.” 

A few moments later, Cas comes back with a weird look on his face. “Sam’s at the door.” 

He’d told Cas, in between screaming into a ball gag and begging to come, about their almost moment earlier. It isn’t like Cas didn’t know about them already, but he took the news with pursed lips and an interesting twist of his wrist with the paddle.

Dean can’t decipher what the look means, but he gets up carefully and heads on through the living room. Once out of Ash’s line of sight, he gets the gun stowed under the sidetable in the hallway where he drops his mail and carefully hooks it into the back of his waistband, adjusting his shirt to cover it. He’s not sure why he does it, to be honest, but he figures Sam doesn’t have to know.

As he comes into the living room, Dean can feel Cas hovering somewhere in the kitchen. He’s almost radiating tension, uncharacteristically fidgeting with stuff in there. Watching Sam, who still stands in the doorway. Sam, who hasn’t come inside.

Sam’s at the door with a huge smile on his face. “Hey! I just came to check on you. See if you got the groceries, talk about the VR thing you’re building and your progress.” 

All the hair on his arms and the back of his neck raises. It’s all he can do not to grab the gun right now. Calm. He has to be calm. Narrowing his eyes, Dean says “Oh yeah? Can I ask a question?” 

Sam’s smile falters with confusion. “Sure?”

Dean steps backwards. “I’m going to be in the kitchen. All questions will be there with me.” 

He walks backwards, watching the figure at the door carefully. Dean’s painfully aware of how vulnerable Cas is in the kitchen. It’s gone silent in there, but he heard the small clink that the Chef knife makes when someone takes it off the magnet strip. 

Sam steps over the threshold deliberately and slowly, a puzzled expression on his face. It gets even more confused when Dean is visibly relieved.

“What’s going on, Dean?”

“You were here this morning already.” It’s not safe here.  _ Castiel _ isn’t safe. And Dean needs to protect him.

Sam starts walking through the living room towards him and Dean backs into the kitchen completely. He stands in front of Cas, gun suddenly in his hand, pointed at Sam.

Sam stops walking, holding his hands up. 

“Dean…” Cas says quietly behind him. 

No, he can’t be distracted. If he looks at Cas, he’ll be leaving his side unguarded. He tenses. Sam tenses. Neither of them move. 

“Dean!” Cas tries again, though he doesn’t touch him. 

Sam licks his lips, but otherwise stays motionless. “Dean. It’s me. I walked over the threshold.” 

He did. Dean knows the wards are safe, they’ve been engraved into the floor under the rug. It could mean anything though. 

“Cas. Go and get Ash. Wait for me to move so you don’t walk in front of me.” 

Castiel obeys him, and Dean’s heart is full with how brave he is, swapping places and hurrying out of the room. He hears a muffled conversation in the computer room. Sam, or whoever is impersonating Sam, simply waits. Ash comes back, alone. 

“What’s goin’ on, amigo?” Ash’s voice is gentle and calm. 

Dean’s own voice breaks. “Is that Sam?”

Ash, bless him, takes Dean’s request seriously. He sizes Sam up. “Castiel told me that he went over the threshold without an invitation, and he hasn’t tried to kill anyone. One sec.” 

Ash takes a canteen out of his pocket and moves close to Sam, splashing the contents over his face. Irritated, Sam spits some of it back out and rubs the water off his eyes. 

“Not a demon,” Ash says simply, capping the canteen. “So yeah, I think it’s Sam.” 

Dean doesn’t move. Sam stares at him, visibly pissed, while Ash just looks between them. Castiel’s voice breaks through the haze that’s gripped him. He’s calm and firm, which tells him that he doesn’t feel as if he’s in danger. The hammering in his ears starts to ease.

“Dean. Put the gun down now and sit. Ash, make coffee without anything extra in it. Sam, sit down, a stool away.”

Remarkably, it works. They sit on stools at the counter, facing into the kitchen where Ash starts doing as he was bid, filling the carafe with water. Cas stands in the kitchen on the other side of the counter, looking at them both. 

“Dean,” he says as he puts the knife back on the strip, “talk.”

He does, staring at his brother with narrowed eyes. “He was here earlier. Asking about the groceries. I showed him the headset rig we have. He got all weird and left.” 

Sam just looks bewildered with a touch of worry. “No? I worked on paperwork all morning, and then I went…” he trails off. His eyes get glassy for a second and then he smiles. “....to the gym. I had a great workout. Then I thought I’d come and see how you were.” 

Dean exchanges a glance with Cas, and he can hear Ash get very quiet behind him.

“Hey, maybe we should call your doctor, Dean.” Sam’s voice is soft, placating. It’s nails on a chalkboard. 

“Sam, I am not imagining -”

Ash brings two mugs of coffee for them, and then goes back for more. Dean doesn’t really want any, but it smells divine. He wraps his hands around the mug. It’s boiling outside, but the warmth is comforting anyhow. 

He starts over. “You came here, we talked about the new neighbor, and then you saw the rig. Then you… you left and uh, you liked it. The rig.” 

“The new neighbor... You mean the guy who lives under you?” 

“No, that guy disappeared, like, a month ago. I mean the redhead. I had a weird dream and you said you’d look into it.” 

The confusion and concern suddenly clears. “A dream. Of course, Dean, you know how you have super detailed dreams. Remember when you were a teenager, you dreamt an entirely different life every time you went to bed. You were exhausted.” 

Dean blinks. “No, this wasn’t -” but Sam is already patting his back. “I’ll call Dr Cooper when I get home and set up a time he can come over. Fuck, you scared the crap out of me! Nice reflexes though, it’s good to see you’re still training.” 

He tries again, “No, Sammy, this wasn’t…” but Sam isn’t listening. In fact, he’s rushing and talking over Dean. It's how he acts when Dean’s has a very bad episode and almost killed someone. Or himself. It’s all ‘medicine, treatment options, he’ll start right away, it’ll be okay’.

His brother also has a bad habit of running away when it gets tough like this. He won’t see Sam for at least a week now. Dean puts the safety on his gun and withdraws into his head. He can hear Ash and Sam talking over his head, around him, as if he doesn’t exist. Tomorrow morning, he’ll get a visit from someone in the psych department and it’ll be one more black mark on his record. 

Dean gets up abruptly, not missing the way Sam flinches at the sudden movement, and stalks off towards his bedroom. “You can all fuck off on out of here!” he tosses back as he goes. 

Then he sits on his bed, listening to them leave. He doesn’t want Castiel to go, but he figures the poor guy has been through enough already. He doesn’t need Dean’s crap, too.

About five minutes after he hears the door slam, he ventures into the living room only to find Castiel sitting on the couch, quietly scrolling on his phone. Dean stops and stands in confusion. 

“I have something to give you,” Castiel says, without looking up. “But I know how you get, so I’m going to say this first: sit down next to me and wait until I’m done.”

Dean cautiously does so, feeling every part of him ache. His body is coming down from the adrenaline high. He’s shaky and in pain, muscles slowly un-cramping.

Castiel turns to look at him. He has a frown creasing his forehead and his eyes are unnervingly focused. He has some money in his hand, which he passes over. “I’m giving some of your money back.”

Dean’s stomach sinks, but he holds onto the steady gaze, remembering that he’d been asked to hear him out. He drops the cash on the couch. “Trying not to think that this means you want me to stop calling.” 

Castiel’s eyes crinkle at the corners, but he still looks serious. Intense. “No, Dean. I’m giving back the rest of the money for tonight. Because I believe you.”

“I’m... I’m not getting…” 

“I believe you and I want to stay to talk about it. On my own time. I won’t take cash for it.” 

Dean’s heart leaps into his throat and he makes an idiot out of himself by stammering until Cas laughs and stands up, patting him on the shoulder. “Okay, good. I’ll make us both some coffee, and you could use a cookie or something.” 

When he finally regains his ability to talk like a damn grownup, Cas is rummaging in the fridge. “You know, for a guy who gives his brother crap about vegetables, it’s really healthy in here. I’d always been meaning to ask about that. Does he pick out your food?”

Dean sits at the barstool and watches. It’s hard not to look at Castiel’s ass, but he tries. Weirdly, not paying for it makes it feel creepy somehow. He clears his throat. “No. I mean, he tried, but that’s how I have to eat.”

He doesn’t say it.  _ Now that I’m a useless ex-hunter who can’t leave his house. _ Castiel seems to hear it anyway because he frowns. Dean can’t seem to stop his mouth, barrelling forward and babbling, “If I eat the way I used to, I’ll gain weight that I’ll never lose. I don’t go to his extremes though. What the hell does he want me to do with the flax seed?” He tries for a joking tone, but he can tell from Castiel’s face that he fell short.

The coffee starts burbling through the machine and it’s a homey sound. Relaxing. The lovely aroma of brewing beans helps too, and he’s unwinding, letting his shoulders drop. Cas is making sandwiches and he’s too beautiful. 

Dean drops his eyes. “You said you wanted to talk. What’s there to talk about?” 

Castiel opens his mouth and a knock on the door interrupts, the person on the other side rapping out “ _ shave and a haircut” _ . 

Dean grins. “Charlie!”

Castiel blows air out through his nose, taking a seat on a barstool to watch as Dean goes through his door unlocking ritual. Soon, Charlie is revealed carrying a six pack and a board game. Her smile is lopsided. Forced.

“You can tell Sam that I don’t need a babysitter.” He walks away from the door anyway, allowing her to come in, if she can. 

She does, closing and locking the door behind her. “Don’t be like that. He just cares about you and he didn’t want you to be alone- oh. Hi, Castiel.”

“Good evening, Charlie,” Castiel says dryly. 

She pauses and looks between them. “I’m getting the vibe you two were having a serious relationship talk.” 

Dean’s beyond giving a shit at this point. Who the fuck does Sam think he is, anyhow? He’s angry at his brother, and he misses him. He’s pissed at Charlie, though he knows it’s not her fault. That makes it worse. “No, Charlie,” he spits out, “we’re trying to figure out if one of my neighbors is a witch, and if she is, why she hexed Sam and killed the old dude downstairs.” 

Castiel starts, spilling his coffee and swearing. Charlie, to Dean’s surprise, looks like she’s taking him seriously. “Well then,” she says, setting her beer and game down on the counter, “fill me in.” 

Dean just stares at her and she laughs. “Out of all the things you talk about, witches I believe in. Later, I have a gnarly childhood story about the creepy lady down the street to tell you.” 

A few hours later, they’re still talking about it. 

Charlie paces. “It seems to me that the place to start is confirming she’s a witch. We’ll wait until she goes out and then one of us will sneak in.” 

“Oh hell no,” Dean says. “That’s a horrible idea. Neither of you know what you’re doing! A hunter needs to do that.”

“But since your brother thinks you’re losing it, asking a hunter won’t really be a great idea,” Castiel points out as he gathers up empty Lo-Mein cartons. “Best scenario, they go in to humour you and do a half-assed job. Worst case, they  _ actually _ commit you so that you don’t hurt a civilian.”

Fuck, both of them are right. Dean’s useless... but he can guide them through it. “Okay, but you’re both going. Even skilled hunters work in teams. And I have some conditions.” 

They gather together and Dean outlines the plan.

An hour later, Dean is watching The Redhead’s apartment while Charlie is putting the finishing touches on her silly contraption. Red comes out of her apartment, looking stunning with gold at her throat and wrists. He makes a low wolf whistle under his breath. She pauses just a second before continuing out of the complex, a peculiar smile on her face as if she’d heard him.

Once she’s been gone a few minutes, he calls out, “Opportunity is knocking, Charlie. You guys ready?”

Charlie comes out of the back room. “Okay, I used the bones of your first headset rig to mount the cellphone. You’ll see wherever the wearer’s head is pointed.”

“Not it,” Castiel says from the couch, looking at the thing with distaste. He’s got a variety of locks in front of him that he’s been practicing picking while Charlie worked in the other room.

Dean eyes him. “Really? Are you twelve?” 

“I am  _ not _ wearing that,” he says, not quite running his hand through his hair. 

Charlie smirks. “Fine, I’ll wear it.” 

“Well, don’t put it on until you get inside, it will definitely attract attention. You both know what you’re looking for?” 

They both nod. 

“Okay. I hope the lock picking crash course sank in. Get going, preferably some time this century.”

They both go. 

Charlie turns the phone on immediately, although she keeps it in her hand, talking to Dean as she walks. From the window, he watches them go down the staircase to the courtyard and cross it. The landlord put up strings of white fairy lights sometime this afternoon, and the inviting nature has kept some folks out on the patio after dark; groups of neighbors are in lawn chairs, drinking beer and talking in low voices. 

No one pays them any mind as they walk across to The Redhead’s apartment. Castiel pretends to fumble with his keys and then drop them, kneeling in front of the door to pick the lock. Charlie stands to block him from sight, talking to Dean on the phone. 

“So, getting serious between you and Blue Eyes, huh?”

“What? No! Charlie, not now.”

“Yeah, but when? You can’t hang up on us or anything. C’mon, he’s dreamy! And you already know that he’s a demon in the sack.”

He can hear Castiel faintly behind her. “It’s done. Also, I’m right here, you know. I  _can_ hear you.” 

Charlie doesn’t say anything, but Dean knows she’s smirking. 

They get inside and Charlie switches the call to video, putting the phone in place and rig on her head. It’s dark and shadowy in here, lit only by their flashlights. They walk around, looking at things. It seems normal. Living room, comfy couches, no television. Several pieces of art decorate the wall. Charlie sneezes violently, making the phone shake.

Castiel, off to the left, says, “The bills on the counter say her name’s Rowena Macleod.” 

Charlie sneezes again.

“Charlie, why the sneezing?” Dean turns the lights off in his own apartment so he can see the video on the phone better. 

Charlie makes an unhappy noise. “Potpourri.” 

Cas cranes his head around to look into the camera frame, but Dean can only see one blue eye instead of his whole face. “The scent is quite strong. It’s coming from this bowl next to the door.” 

He yanks Charlie’s head around and Dean sees the heavy looking crystal bowl, filled to the brim with innocent looking dried flowers. “Under no circumstances should you touch that. Go check out the bedrooms.” 

The first bedroom is almost spartan, except for the luxurious comforter on the bed. There’s no other furniture there and no art on the walls. While he chews that one over, Castiel heads out of frame to the other room. He can hear “Woah.” faintly, then, “Charlie, bring Dean in here.” 

She does, and then stops short. It’s the larger of the two rooms and just as cramped as the other is empty. It holds bookshelves filled with neatly labeled jars and bottles, a small table with what is unmistakably an altar on it, and one very large book. 

Dominating an entire wall, however, is a beautifully drawn mural of the apartment complex. Each apartment has a picture of the people who live in it tacked to the door along with post-its. 

“Charlie, move closer and slowly scan it.” He hits  _ record _ on his phone. 

Each one has small lists of facts, written in a neat, loopy handwriting. They get to Dean’s. The post-it says, “PTSD. Lonely. Cute brother. Dangerous. HUNTER.” The word is underlined three times. 

His head spins. “Get the rest.” 

While Charlie scans the whole rest of the wall with the camera, movement in the corner of his eye makes him look out the window.

“Crap! She’s coming back! Get out!” 

Both of them scramble. Charlie rips the headset off as they sprint for the door, but Rowena’s almost there, rummaging in her purse for her keys. Dean calls out to them to warn them as he surges up, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. 

“Guys, no, she’s at the door! Head to the bathroom!” 

He can hear them hurrying, trying to be quiet. Rowena opens the front door just as they click the bathroom door closed gently. Castiel whispers, “Turn off the phone.” 

“No! No, don’t - !” 

It’s too late, the screen is dark. Dean grabs at his hair in panic. Fuck, what can he do?

There’s an intense moment of sheer terror until he finally resolves that  _ fuck it _ , he’s going to go the fuck outside and distract her. He even gets to the door and opens it, fumbling with each lock and swearing, the world lurching under his feet. 

Finally able to yank the door open, Charlie and Cas are running along the walkway towards the door, and he nearly faints in relief. Cas pushes him back inside and Charlie crowds in after, closing and locking the door. 

“But… but how?” Dean looks up at Castiel, who is walking him towards the couch, hand firmly on his elbow. 

Charlie laughs, dropping down onto the wingback chair. “Castiel is  _ very _ bendy indeed.” 

Castiel snorts, sitting next to Dean on the couch. “Yes, well. You’re not so bad yourself. We wiggled out of the bathroom window while she was in the kitchen.” 

“I’m so happy to see you guys.” Dean smiles weakly. 

“Happy to be seen. I’m flattered you were trying to come rescue us.” Castiel gives him a quick, awkward side hug. He smells good, so Dean leans into it as long as he can before Castiel stiffens slightly. He doesn’t push him away, but Dean moves anyway. 

They both leave after a few minutes, as much as Dean wishes they’d stay. Charlie has to work, and Castiel is suddenly withdrawn and skittish. It’s okay. Or, it will be. He wants to talk to him, to tell him how he feels, but there’s no point. Anyway, he needs to load the footage into the video game and see if he can make sense of it with the headset on. 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean is having no luck. What’s more than that, he isn’t sure why the Men of Letters haven’t twigged onto this on their own by now. The next week, they find Mr. Anderson across the way dead, draped on the balcony railing. The two old ladies in 1C (Castiel has taken to calling them Martha and Abby after some old movie that Dean refuses to watch) come by and gossip with Dean over tea about it. 

“Well, dear, Mr. Anderson was a lonely soul, but a little paranoid if you ask me,” Abby says primly, taking a delicate bite of a cookie. 

Martha nods solemnly. “Oh yes. Poor thing kept hearing something in the walls, and the night he died! Well.” 

Abby leans forward and puts her hand on Dean’s arm. Her skin is papery thin. She smells like camphor and he hates it. Years of hunting help him to keep a smile on his face. In a whisper, as if confiding a secret, she says, “Spiders, don’t you know. He came out, screaming about spiders. And then dropped dead, right there on the balcony!”

“Oh yes. Weak heart, pour soul,” Martha adds. 

Abby wrinkles her nose. “Highly unsanitary, dying like that in a public space.” 

Dean smiles weakly. “Inconsiderate.” 

The ladies smile at him, causing shivers to run up and down his spine.

Two more weeks go by, and the deaf woman below him moves out, except that he never sees her. Just Mr. Holt, the landlord, directing the movers. When he comes to collect the rent, Dean asks what happened. 

Holt takes the check and folds it in half, and then half again, peering at him from behind bottle-thick glasses. They distort his eyes, magnifying and twisting them a little as he turns his head. He puts the check into the pocket of his filthy corduroys and rubs at the grease stain on his shirt absently. 

“She got a job in New York. Some college for the deaf. Had to go right away, so she paid me extra to move her stuff.” He looks wistful and somehow smarmy at the same time. “She was such a good tenant. So pretty, too.” 

As usual, when he leaves Dean feels like he needs a bath. 

Another week goes by and it’s obvious that Sam is both avoiding any prolonged time with Dean, which is not so unusual these days, and not answering his phone calls, which is.

Unable to get him to talk, unwilling to profess his undying love to Castiel in a dramatic fashion, all he can do is obsess about the mural in Rowena’s apartment. There’s something off about the thing, but he can’t put his finger on it.

“It’s just… if it was a list of victims, what does she want? Did she kill those people? And why? Witches don’t usually just murder people random-” Dean’s cut off mid sentence by Castiel’s lips. 

“As much as I enjoy playing detective,” he whispers into the kiss, “I’m compelled to remind you that this is your dime. We could be doing so much more…” 

There’s a hammering on the door, followed by his brother’s irate yelling. “Dean! You are not funny! Open this damn door -” 

Sam cuts off when Castiel answers it, leaning suggestively against the doorframe. Dean watches his brother take in the ruffled hair, unbuttoned shirt, and reddened lips, swollen from use. Sam swallows hard, and then pushes past him. 

Sam glares down at Dean. “Just how damn old are you? Fifty pineapple pizzas to the Men of Letters’ downtown office? Really?”

Dean grins up at him, leaning back on the couch with both arms spread out along the back. Castiel sits back down next to him and starts biting at his neck, making exaggerated, filthy, groaning sounds as he does. Sam’s face slowly turns bright red. 

Dean pats the seat next to him. “I had to do something. You stopped talking to me, and that, little brother, sucks.” 

Sam swallows hard. “It’s immature. You could have at least made them edible.” He’s staring at Castiel, who is pretending that he doesn’t notice. 

Dean looks at him and blinks slowly, letting his legs fall open. Sam can’t possibly miss how hard he’s growing. “I like Pineapple. You keep letting those people come between us. We’re so much more than that, and you know it. What’s more, you miss me. I see it every damn time you’re here.” 

Sam closes his eyes briefly and sits next to his brother. “I hate seeing you in crisis like this. I miss you, Dean. I don’t know how to help.” 

Dean slides his fingers up the back of Sam’s neck, who loses his composure by shuddering and leaning in against him. “That’s it,” Dean says gently. “Let it go.”

Castiel lightly runs his fingers along Dean’s jeans, right over his dick, and Sam jerks forward a little, eyes glued to the action. 

“We could share him,” Dean offers in not-quite a whisper. “I won’t touch you, if you don’t want me to.” 

Castiel hums agreeably, slipping elegantly to his knees in front of Dean. Sam watches him with an intensity that Dean’s missed over the past few years. Sam’s hesitating on the brink, and all he needs is a small push to come back to him. He opens his mouth, but Castiel squeezes his thigh. He gets the message instantly…  _ Let me do it _ …

Dean’s dick is hard when Cas delicately unzips his jeans and pulls it out. Sam holds his breath. Looking up at Sam through his lashes, Castiel licks all the way up, from balls to head. Dean groans, thrusting upwards, the hand on the back of his brother’s neck clenching. 

The moment when Sam’s resolve crumbles is beautiful. He shrugs his coat off and grabs Dean’s face with two hands and a snarl. He kisses Dean, invading him with his tongue in an almost angry assault. Dean takes it and gives it back, hands pulling and yanking at Sam’s stupid hair until it finally comes free from its binding and falls around them in a private curtain that smells so achingly of Sam. 

Castiel takes this moment to swallow his cock down entirely. Dean gasps into Sam’s mouth and completely loses the resolve he had not to push for what he really wants. 

“Please, Sam, just touch me?  _ Please? _ ” He begs, peppering each word with a kiss, tangling his hands in his brother’s silky, chestnut hair.

Sam pulls back, teasing Dean with a savage smile, eyes locked on his. “Castiel,” his voice is stupidly calm in the face of the storm in Dean’s head, “let’s bring him into the bedroom and see just how much he can take. Did you bring your cuffs?”

Giving one last lick, Castiel sits up, though his hand is still slowly jacking him with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Of course, Sam. It would be my pleasure. And I did. They’re Dean’s favorite thing to wear to bed.” 

Together they gather Dean up and lead him to the bedroom, shutting the door hard between the world, the witch, and everything that doesn’t belong to them.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean wakes up ungodly early because the police are at his door, playing it like a bass drum. 

The two detectives on the other side, Young and Green, interview him for about ten minutes about his neighbor Kevin without telling him why, before they pause to stare over his head. Dean turns to look as Sam comes out of the bedroom, wearing only boxers with Dean’s robe open, flapping behind him as he shuffles into the kitchen. He’s way too big for the robe, so it’s both short and tight. His hair is pulled back into a messy bun, and the fresh bite marks all over his neck and chest make them both raise an eyebrow. At the same time. 

Sam ignores them, fucking around with the coffee maker. Eventually, they stop staring and go back to asking Dean if he’s sure he’s never been inside Kevin’s apartment.

He’s trying to explain for the third time that he never leaves his own place, “no, not even for the mail ”, when Castiel comes out of the back wearing Dean’s favorite pair of pajama pants and no shirt. He’s utterly gorgeous, hair messed, jaw shadowed in stubble, eyes squinty and tired. Young and Green look at Dean. Dean just crosses his arms, leans back in his chair and raises an eyebrow. 

Young points at the back with his pencil. “Got any more back there?”

Sam calls out from the kitchen, “Don’t answer any more questions, Dean.” 

Green bristles, but Dean’s done now. “If there’s any more you want to know, you can take it up with my lawyer. Hopefully after he gets dressed.” 

The detectives look at each other, sharing some kind of glance that Dean supposes means something to the two of them. Young fishes out his card. “You should try getting a lawyer you’re not sleeping with.” 

Dean’s smile could cut glass. “But he’s my brother. You gotta support family.” 

He’s rewarded by a simultaneous look of disgust and disbelief just before the two of them beat feet. Once the door is closed, Sam sits at the table, passing a cup of coffee over. “So, I get the feeling that I’m behind somehow.” 

Dean sighs. “You are. Given what’s been going on, I think something has happened to Kevin. Ultimately, this is about the redhead downstairs. Her name is Rowena. I told you about this already, but she made you forget it.” 

Sam looks dubious, but Cas, bless the man, comes over and leans his perfect hip on the table. He’s not drinking his coffee as much as smelling it, inhaling wakefulness. 

He mutters, eyes half closed, “He did. She did. You did. You just wouldn’t listen.”

His brother puts the mug down. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning.” 

So Dean does. It takes longer than he thought it would, and they’re waiting for a pizza (no pineapple) for lunch before too long. Charlie intercepts it on her way up. She has that slightly manic look that says she’s been up all night and may crash soon. She’s accompanied by Martha and Abby, who have the same manic look, but on them it reads as glee. 

“There’s police tape next door!” Charlie says to Sam, who’s taken over door duty after another pair of cops try to come in to ask follow-up questions. 

She pushes past a bemused Sam, followed by the old ladies. At least he’s dressed now, Dean thinks belatedly. 

“Oh yes, dearie,” Abby says, and Martha frowns at her.

“It’s not right to be so gleeful, you know,” she chides, but is clearly not following her own advice. They both smile when they see Castiel. 

Martha clucks her tongue. “Look at you, so handsome today. Such an angel.” 

He smiles, oozing respect and charm. “Ladies. Please, do sit. What’s the news?”

Abby shakes her head. “Oh no, dear, we can’t stay. But, that poor boy. So quiet, so lonely. Just studying all night long. Why, one could see him up at all hours.” 

Martha nods wisely. “My sister is up late, you know, because of the rheumatism in her hip. Poor dear. She would often remark what a sad thing it is, someone so young.” 

Dean shakes his head. “No, he had friends. I could hear them through the wall.” 

Abby touches his shoulder and Dean wishes she wouldn’t. “Oh well. Friendship is all very well, but he was alone when it counted. Late at night, alone and unwanted. And now, gone. Blood everywhere and no one to mourn him properly.” 

She looks him in the eye sharply and he shudders helplessly. She smiles. “Oh look at the time. We’ve got to go, or we’ll miss the previews.” 

Martha links arms with her. “The previews are the best part.” 

After they’ve left, they all sit around the counter on stools eating pizza in the quiet. The thing is niggling him again, but he can’t place it. 

Sam says, cutting into his thoughts, “I have to go, there’s some research I want to do, but I want to go into her apartment myself tonight. If I bring this up to Grandpa Henry, we’ll have a whole team down here, and right now I don’t think that’s a great idea before I do some recon.” 

Cas chimes in, “I have to go too. As much fun as this has been, I do have some clients to see tonight.” 

Dean swallows down the irrational jealousy that comes every time Castiel brings it up. He knows that he tries not to, but occasionally he does, just to remind Dean what the relationship is here. It’s useful, even if it hurts. 

He nods, not trusting his voice, but puts on a smile just the same. Charlie claps him on the shoulder. “Let’s do a deep dive into your video game collection, Winchester. I’m too wired to sleep.” 

Charlie passes out on his couch around dinner time. Dean’s staring at the phone, watching the footage. He’s long since loaded everything into the headrig, but for some reason, he can’t really get a feel for what he’s missing like that. 

Castiel shows up around nine. He’s dressed for work, but looks angry and disheveled, like a pissed off cat. Dean lets him in without a word and he stalks off into the bathroom to take a shower without asking. There’s a delicate part inside Dean that snaps, listening to the water run. Having Castiel the way he does just makes him more lonely and separated from the world. Cas obviously encountered someone horrible tonight, and there’s nothing he can do. Nothing Castiel  _ wants _ him to do. 

When Castiel comes out of the shower, Dean nearly drops his phone, taking in the sight of him dressed in a pair of Dean’s old jeans and his most soft, aged shirt. He didn’t ask. It’s proprietary, wonderful, horrible. He beckons Cas over. 

“I found something. Lonely!” He taps the phone triumphantly. Cas squints at him. 

“No… she, that old lady, she said he was lonely. Fuck. Look, I wouldn’t ask this of you again, but I need to see what that board looks like now. She’s not at home, I saw her go out ages ago. I just need a picture of it and then you can get out of there.” 

Cas makes a face. Dean grabs him by the shoulders. “I think I understand what’s going on, but I have to be sure.  _ Please _ , Cas. Sam’s at the bunker, and there’s no cell reception there or I’d call him. I have to know I’m not insane right now.” 

Cas looks him in the eyes. “Explain it.” 

Dean shakes his head. “No, not till I’m sure that I’m on to something. Can you do that for me?” 

He sighs. “Fine. Give me the lockpicks.” 


	7. Chapter 7

Dean watches from the table as Cas picks the locks on her door in record time, slipping in quietly. He drums his fingers on the table nervously. Charlie, awake again, stumbles in and sits on a chair at the table, rubbing her eyes. “What are we waiting for?” 

“Cas. He’s in Rowena’s apartment. I’m glad you’re here, I need to use the bathroom. Just keep an eye out for her.” 

Dean’s coming out of the bathroom when he hears her urgent call. “Dean! Dean, she’s here! She’s talking to those weird old ladies out on the patio near the pool.” 

He quick-dials Cas from his phone, but his stomach sinks when he hears the phone ring from the pile of discarded clothing he left behind. 

Panic blinds him for a second, but somehow he’s calling Sam without thinking. Sam, who is still in the damn bunker. He’d have to go through five layers of secretaries before he got anyone to track him down. If he went in person, though… 

His stomach cramps and he thinks he might vomit or faint just from the thought of it. Leaving, driving. No walls. No  _ door _ .  _ No locks. _

“Charlie,” he croaks out, “I’m going to give you an address and a password. Don’t let them turn you away until you see Sam. It’ll seem like a weird place to go to, but don’t give up. Get him. Cas’ life depends on it. And don’t let her see you.” 

She flees. 

He watches in helpless panic as Rowena finishes her apparently pleasant chat with the old ladies and goes into her apartment. Half a minute later, she comes out. Her face is changed, lips a thin line of anger, eyes flashing. They flick up to Dean’s window and she raises an eyebrow. 

Dean turns out the light. Carefully, he slinks to the side table and takes the gun out from under it. He crouches back to the couch, waiting. He’s dimly aware that his heart should be hammering, but for once, the panic is quiet. Dean feels centered. Calm. 

He can hear the latches on his door slowly unlock, one by one. The door opens itself for her. She’s backlit, a fog unrolling around her like a movie. 

“You can’t come in here,” Dean says, foolishly giving away his position, but he wants her to talk. If he can get her going, he can find out what in the hell is going on.

“That could be true,” she says easily. Her voice is musical, the brogue lilting and lovely. “But you want me to come in all the same. I know you watch me. You and your pretty friend. She’s lovely, by the way. So sweet. She carried my hex-bag in here without even knowing.” 

What? Dean blinks, stunned and cursing himself for not noticing. “What did you do to her? Where’s Charlie?” 

Rowena delicately lifts her skirt to show one foot, deliberately lifting it to step over Dean’s threshold. “I have no idea, dear boy. I merely gave her something of mine to leave in your home. She’ll have no memory of betraying you, so don’t blame her.” 

Dean stands and points his gun at her. “I will absolutely murder you.” 

“Don’t be silly, my boy. We have much to talk about.” 

“Like why you killed my neighbor? Neighbors. Why you want to kill me?” 

She shakes her head, pretty red hair catching the weird light, shiny and mesmerizing. “No, dear. Despite you being a hunter, I don’t want to kill you. And I didn’t kill any of them.” 

Dean snorts. 

Rowena coughs. Then she chokes. Blood spills from her mouth and runs down her chin as she makes a strangled, gurgling noise. A long, wicked spike forces itself through her abdomen, shoving and twisting while she, eyes wide, moves her mouth soundlessly. 

The body crumples to the ground and Abby yanks the long spike that used to be her left hand out of it with a sweet smile. “No dear, I did.”

Martha totters up behind her. Her face is distorted now, papery skin stretched and peeling. “I helped, of course.” 

Abby’s smile gets wider and wider, her mouth full of too many sharp teeth. “Now it’s your turn.” 

Dean backs up in alarm, tripping over his own damn feet like a chick in a horror movie, landing hard on his ass as the gun skitters across the floor. “What the actual fuck…” 

Martha tsks. The weird fog outside billows, turning the lights outside yellow and creepy. They cast long shadows into the room. “Language, young man. No need for that. We are not your enemy.” 

Dean laughs as he scrabbles backwards. 

The creature that was Abby pouts, which is almost more mind warping than her transformation. “But we’re not, dear. You poor souls, with no one to love you. We  _ rescued  _ you all from your own loneliness. That poor gentleman downstairs. The student. The deaf girl.” 

Martha bustles in. “And now you. It’s a  _ kindness _ , of course. Plus, the despair makes you so very tasty. You’re the icing on the cake, you see.” Abby stalks forward and Dean gets to his feet. 

No gun. The closest one is in the bedroom. But the kitchen… he backs up slowly, letting them think he’s scared. Well, okay, he  _ is _ scared. Scared, but calm. Not helpless. He lets Abby talk as he leads her towards it. 

Abby makes clicking sounds like a bug, sniffing the air, drool pooling on the floor as she goes. “Your despair is so profound that it taints the very air. I wanted to have you the first night you came here, but we knew. Hunters always think they’re so damn  _ subtle. _ ” 

Dean suddenly gets it. “But then Rowena moved in.” 

She makes a burbling kind of laugh and he unravels the rest of their plan. They’ll just blame the witch. He’ll be dead, and Sam… Sam will just think he killed her before she got some kind of curse off. And  _ Castiel... _ a wave of grief washes over him, making both creatures groan at the same time. 

Abby lunges for him. 

Dean ducks and rolls into the kitchen, coming up against the stove. As she crowds what is now an enormous bulk into the entryway, he grabs the cast iron pan that used to belong to his mother and smacks the creature with it. She shrieks, reeling a little.

Martha, unable to get into the kitchen, is doing some kind of weird excited dance on the other side of the counter. Her teeth click together as she babbles about his bone marrow. Abby, yellowish blood streaming from her head, jabs forward with the spike that used to be her hand, spearing through his arm. He screams, dropping the pan because his damn arm won’t hold it suddenly. With a triumphant noise, she opens her mouth, dragging him close to her by his impaled arm. 

Dean twists with all his might, pulling against the knifelike claw, panting with the pain as stars burst behind his eyes. She wraps her other arm around him in an embrace, leaning forward with a jaw that opens way too wide. Dean gives everything he has, shrieking with pain as he leans backwards with all his body weight, pulling towards the knives on the wall. Fingers outstretched, trying to reach, only just able to touch.

She goes with him, her tongue, long and sticky, reaching out to lick at his face. He can feel something seeping into his system through his skin, slowly making him numb, fuzzy. Pliant. With one last effort, Dean pulls, hearing rather than feeling the claw tear out through muscle and tendons. His own blood sprays across his face as he grabs the huge knife off the magnetic block and swings it in an underhanded arc, up through the inside of her gaping maw, into her brain. She freezes for a second and then falls - crumpled like an old balloon. 

Dean does too, slowly growing fuzzy and quiet, content to listen to the distant sounds of Martha bellowing in grief and rage. He knows he’s going to die. The sounds get louder and he closes his eyes. He could probably move, if he wanted to. Instead, he thinks about Sam, riding him slowly as Cas holds onto his hips from behind, the both of them whispering praise while they love him. The pretty arc of Sam’s hair when he throws his head back in ecstasy. The intense blue of Castiel’s eyes. 

A sharp, intense pain wakes him from his stupor, and his eyes fly open as Martha, her teeth clamped around his already injured arm, slumps lifelessly to the floor. Without her head. That stays attached to his arm. Sam stands above her, breathing hard, Castiel crowded closely behind him. 

Dean smiles up at Sam. “Good timing, little brother.” Then he slides away from consciousness into the black.


	8. Chapter 8

The next few days are a blur. He spends a lot of time drugged up in the Men of Letters bunker, being watched. No one knows what the fuck those things were, and the discovery of something new is always way too exciting. They poke him and prod him, making sure he isn’t changing into something else. There are a few surgeries to restore function in his hand, although he’s told that he will need physical therapy to regain full use.    
  


Dean can’t stand to be there, and his anxiety is managed with a heavy hand. He can’t often tell if he’s still groggy from lingering venom effects or if it’s something else they’re giving him. After a week, they let Sam see him. He explains that the two old ladies had owned the property, hiring the man pretending to be the landlord so that they could hunt properly. There’s not much else he can tell them, because they still don’t know what those things were.

After two weeks, they reluctantly agree to let Castiel see him. Castiel simply crawls into his hospital bed and sleeps there with him. It’s grounding and sweet. When he leaves, he kisses Dean on the lips lightly and promises to see him again soon. 

When the cleaners are done with the apartment building, they let Dean go home. It doesn’t help. His sanctuary has been violated and he spends several deeply medicated nights with a knife (they won’t give him back his guns) held in his bad off hand, “patrolling” the inside of his home, waiting for an attack that never comes. 

Sam comes and sits with him that Saturday. Dean’s refusing to take his medication. He has a mother of a headache. 

“Look, I have a place now,” Sam says quietly, taking his hands across the table. “It’s a house, on a busy street. There’s a park. Come and live with me. You can watch everyone out the window and have your own space. You can take the whole upper floor.” 

Dean eyes him carefully. “Are you sure, Sammy? I seem to remember how much living with me irritated you.” 

He smiles sheepishly, ducking his head a little. “Yeah, yeah. Well. I miss you, as it happens. We still need to be careful, as far as Grandpa Samuel goes, but I’m tired of pretending I don’t love you.”

The phrase startles him into silence. “What?” 

Sam’s eyes narrow. “You heard me. Take it in whatever way you want. I don’t intend to pretend anymore we didn’t have a sordid affair for years.” 

“Sordid!” he squawks. He’s only half offended, but Sam nods. 

“Yes, that’s what I’d call it. Pretending we didn’t do what we did. Letting desperation drive us to it. It felt sordid. I’d like to live without all of that for a while. See what we could be to each other when we’re more settled and unafraid.” 

Dean mulls that over. It sounds good. Like something he’d have rejected once upon a time, when he was younger and still had something to prove. Still… “What about Castiel?”

Sam laughs. “You don’t have to give him up. But I’d think twice before you try to woo him. The man likes you more than I think you know, but he isn’t so far gone that he’ll give up his job.” 

Dean brings Sam’s knuckles up to his mouth and kisses them. “That’s fine. One step at a time.” 


End file.
